


Whumptober 2020 No. 7

by Sapless_Tree



Category: Malevolent (2018)
Genre: Blood Loss, Canon-Typical Violence, Carrying, Gen, Support, Whump, Whumptober 2020, concussion, delerium - Freeform, no. 7, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26906191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapless_Tree/pseuds/Sapless_Tree
Summary: Whumptober no. 7 "I've Got You"Prompt: support, carrying“Hey, El, hey. Look at me.” He did as she said, his bloodshot, tear-filled eyes meeting her own misty ones. “You okay?” She asked, but she knew the answer already. He took a look down at himself, blood covering most of the front of his body-- three deep gashes from the tenon saw seeped deep crimson, and he could feel another two wet, stinging gashes on his back (from when he had tried to crawl away). His ankle was still broken, bleeding sluggishly and looking significantly more swollen than before.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 2
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Whumptober 2020 No. 7

**Author's Note:**

> so this is aaaaaah horror movie that came out a few years ago and I really liked the dynamic between Angela and Elliot (and the movie gots a lotta Elliot-centric whump, seriously this dude can't catch a break). Then I found out that there's literally no fanfiction/fanbase for this movie anywhere at all really, sooo I had to write my own. 
> 
> This takes place just directly after the events in Mrs. Green's house; instead of Angela wandering off and leaving a bleeding out Elliot in the basement to go find help, she gets him upstairs and calls for help. kjsdsfjk okay just take it

Mrs. Green’s body fell to the floor in a heap, dead as all those she had killed before. Angela clutched the old, rusted screwdriver in her hand. 

She was frozen.

The thud of Mrs. Green’s body was the only sound for a long stretch of time; it was so loud, so _final_. 

Angela’s brain had completely shorted out with the pure adrenaline running through her veins-- she was only brought back to reality by a moan from Elliot.

She found herself staring, motionless even as tears streamed down his bloodied face. Elliot took shuddery, hiccuping breaths, hands shakily pressing against the large gashes on his chest. His breathing was quick as if he couldn’t get enough air in with each pained inhale. He was hardly even sitting up, slumped body leaning against the wall as he bled out.

“Elliot,” Angela said dumbly. She dropped the screwdriver and it fell to the floor with a clank. Other sounds came rushing back, too. The eerie tune of “The Little Nash Rambler” was still playing, and Angela could hear not only Elliot’s but her own heavy breathing as well.

Angela rushed to his side, brushing some of the blood and tears off of his cheek. 

“Hey, El, hey. Look at me.” He did as she said, his bloodshot, tear-filled eyes meeting her own misty ones. “You okay?” She asked, but she knew the answer already. He took a look down at himself, blood covering most of the front of his body-- three deep gashes from the tenon saw seeped deep crimson, and he could feel another two wet, stinging gashes on his back (from when he had tried to crawl away). His ankle was still broken, bleeding sluggishly and looking significantly more swollen than before. 

“I think...” he took a moment to inhale another few breaths. “I think I need to-- to go to the hospital,” he said, struggling with the words. 

Angela watched as Elliot slowly lifted his head back up to look in her eyes again. He looked miserable.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Yeah, I think so too.” 

Elliot hummed something of a reply before leaning his head back against the wall and letting his eyes slip closed. 

“Hey,” Angela said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “El, you can’t fall asleep. I need to get you upstairs.” She shook it gently, earning a groan of pain from him. “Elliot, open your eyes. We have to go up the stairs.” He groaned again but gradually forced his eyes back open. “That’s it, come on.”

Trying to be mindful of his injuries, Angela hooked her arms around his chest and began to hoist him up. But immediately pain flared up in his body and he was crying out. 

“No, no!” He grunted out, the blood had stuck his shirt to his body, and the movement was beginning to rip off whatever little coagulation had been there. “Ange--! Wait,” he cried out again as he slipped a little; she wrapped her arms around him a little higher, hoping to pull him up mostly by the armpits, but she caught a gash on his back with her arm. “ _Stop!_ ” Angela did stop, backing off and letting him collect himself.

Elliot’s body hurt all over. The deep gashes from the tenon saw pulled his skin whenever he tried to move and the room spun slightly. His head throbbed-- that was right, Jackson crashed the car. Or was it because Herman had hit him over the head with the shovel? Either way, the room was tilting and Elliot felt like he was floating. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes. 

“Elliot,” Anglea said again. “El, you have to stay awake,” she reminded, patting his cheek.

Elliot nodded, swallowing hard against his growing nausea. He placed a hand flat against the wall and tried to push himself up.

“Woah, wait El,” Angela said, again trying to find a good angle to support him from, “here, let me help.” Putting his free arm around her shoulders, he tried again, having a little more luck moving slightly. 

Pain ripped through his body, making him shout once again.

His ankle, which had been reduced to a dull ache with the intensity of his other injuries, had made itself known once he had attempted to put any pressure on it. Angela moved to back off again, but Elliot kept hold, using the momentum of her movement to force himself the rest of the way up. It startled Angela, nearly sending her toppling (and him along with her) over. But a bit of stumbling and flailing later and the two were upright, Elliot leaning heavily on Angela, and putting all of the weight she wasn’t supporting on his good leg.

Reveling in their success, but mostly just trying to catch their breath, neither moved. It was starting to stink of death in that basement, with the bodies of Jackson, Herman, and Mrs. Green all in that small space coupled with the odor of blood all over Elliot and covering Angela’s head and mouth. It was enough to make anyone want to vomit, especially if you were concussed as both of the two were. 

They were able to make it a few steps toward the staircase before stopping again. Elliot couldn’t help as noises of pain escaped him every small movement the two made. His nausea was getting worse with the movement, stomach lurching and body shaking. 

“El, you doing okay?” Angela asked. He nodded, not trusting his ability to open his mouth without puking-- there was already bile in the back of his throat just waiting for any excuse to exit. “Okay. I’m going to start moving again, all right?” Eliot didn’t answer, just clenched his teeth together, and let Angela lead him another few slow steps. They stopped again at the stairs.

Both were breathless, Elliot couldn’t think past the pain in his ankle and chest. And the throbbing in his head was demanding attention he couldn’t give it as he could feel the blood trickling down all over his body. Angela asked him something-- something about the stairs. But he couldn't respond. He couldn’t move. The blood was like a hundred bugs crawling all over him, making their way slowly down his body-- all over his face. It stunk horribly, a putrid rotting stench that sent the room spinning again. Elliot tried to force out any sort of noise from his throat, but all that came through was a strange sort of grunt.

Angela took it as permission to continue, making a move to help him up the first stair step. The second she shifted his body, Elliot knew he’d lost. He tried to turn away from her as much as he could, but he couldn’t turn very far with her being the main thing keeping him upright.

His stomach emptied itself out right then.

It stung the back of his throat and splashed thickly against the first few steps of the staircase. Elliot could see the deep red of blood mixed with vomit and for a few moments wondered if that had dripped off of him or had come out when he threw up. 

“Oh, God, Elliot--!” Was all Angela could get out before she too was spitting out the remains of what her stomach had brought up. “Ughh--” Angela moaned out, throwing up a bit more before turning to Elliot again. “I think… I think I’m good now. You done, El?”

“Mhm, I--” Elliot squeezed his eyes shut. “Ange… it hurts.”

“I know,” Angela said. “I’m sorry, we’re almost there.” They were only up one stair, but Angela wasn’t about to admit to that, she just hoped he was too out of it to notice how far they still had to go. The old orphanage didn’t just have one staircase they had to go up, either. There was this case, a landing, and another set of stairs after that just to get to the main floor.

Elliot bobbed his head a bit, “mm’kay,” he slurred, “m’ready. Let’s… let’s go.” 

“You sure?” She asked.

He nodded again, holding tighter around her shoulders, bracing for movement. “Yeah.”

Angela mumbled out something that sounded like ‘okay’ before she began to move again. It was a slow process, and the two had to stop nearly every other step, but eventually, they had made it to the landing, breathless and feeling less-than-okay, but there all the same. 

“I think,” Angela began, out of breath from supporting most of his weight, “I think we should take a break here.” She was already lowering them both to the ground and leaning him up against the wall. “Just a minute.”

“Yeah… okay…” he rasped out. Leaning against the wall he was putting pressure on his injuries, but the overwhelming exhaustion won out over the pain of the gashes on his back.

Angela closed her eyes for a moment, and Eliot did the same. They stayed like that until they could breathe normally again, whatever adrenaline the two had been running on had definitely gone some time ago. Elliot could feel consciousness slipping away, but couldn’t bring himself to care so much about that as he let his head loll to the side, hitting Angela's shoulder. 

She jumped, eyes flying back open.

“Elliot?” She said, her head turned to him quickly. He was out cold-- head completely limp against her shoulder and body slackening. “Hey.” She shook his shoulder gently, trying to rouse him. “Hey, El, you can’t sleep, remember?” She said, her own voice sounding exhausted.

His eyelids weighed a ton. Elliot could feel Angela jostling him by the shoulder, but couldn’t force his eyes open. They were just so heavy. He was just too tired. 

He gave an incoherent hum-- he was awake, but only sort of. Angela was still talking to him, but in his hazy state, drifting in and out of consciousness, he didn’t understand what she was saying. 

Angela shook his shoulder a little rougher. “Elliot, come on. You need to wake up, I’m going to start moving you again.” Doing his best, Elliot attempted to lift his head off of Angela’s shoulder but only succeeded in sliding it against her neck a bit and letting it drop again. She began to move away from him. 

Without Angela’s shoulder to keep him upright, Elliot was too limp to do anything but begin to fall to the side. Angela held him up with her hands before shifting his arm around her shoulders.

“Okay, I’m going to stand you up. Ready?” He wasn’t. “One,” her voice was already drifting away, “two,” he could hardly hear her-- barely feel his arm around her shoulders, “three.” It was almost inaudible, but he was jolted back to consciousness when she stood quickly. 

Everything hurt. The world was shifting under Elliot’s feet and for a moment, he thought that maybe he would throw up again, but things grew foggy.

“God, El you…” he was sure she was still speaking, but he found himself less and less aware of things. He was moving-- or rather, he was being moved. “--too much blood… going to have to-- can you…?” More words. No, he couldn’t. Whatever she wanted he wasn’t sure, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. 

Angela was practically dragging Elliot, his legs were uncooperative and the rest of him largely unresponsive. He was conscious-- barely, but it was better than nothing. His feet dragged along the steps of the stairs, bouncing off the edge of the step every so often. His ankle was still grossly swollen, but Angela decided to ignore that as she hauled him up the stairs. 

She needed him to try to help; she was exhausted and concussed as well, but he could hardly stay awake let alone support some of his own weight. 

‘ _We shouldn’t have stopped_ ,’ Angela thought. ‘ _If we’d just kept going we would have been upstairs by now._ ’ Angela could feel her grip loosen a little. Elliot’s foot smacked against one of the stairs, but she was able to shift him back up before too much damage was done.

“Ange…” he groaned in pain.

“I know, El, I know. We’re almost there. You’re so close-- it’s going to be okay,” she reassured.

Five more steps. Elliot was barely clinging onto Angela anymore-- his arm was around her, but he hung off loosely like an accessory. 

Four more steps. Anglea had a tight grip on him, she tried not to hold too tight around where the tenon saw had cut into him, but there was only so much she could do about that.

Three more. There was so much blood staining the two of them. Most of it was Elliot’s, but the rich stench of the sweet, metallic liquid permeated the air nonetheless.

Two. All of the blood made them wet and sticky, so Angela was unsurprised when she felt her grasp slipping some. She clutched him tighter, but she had caught one of the larger gashes on his torso. 

One. He cried out and she apologized profusely, with so much blood Angela could hardly tell which parts of Elliot were cut up and which were fine. The whole of him hurt already, but the last thing Angela wanted was to make it any worse for her fading friend.

“We’re up-- you made it, we did it,” Angela huffed out. “Can you get to the couch?” Elliot was out of breath; he hadn’t moved much on his own, but getting up the stairs had taken just as much effort out of him. He couldn’t breathe deeply. Any time he did, the skin around the edges of the wounds would pull, letting more blood slip through.

“Elliot,” Angela said, talking a little louder and keeping her voice slow for him. “Can you get to the couch?” Hazily, he had understood the question the second time around. So he nodded-- he wasn’t sure if he could, but sitting did sound nice.

“Okay,” Angela said, sucking in another deep breath, “okay, ready?” She didn’t wait for him to nod again before she began half-guiding, half-dragging Elliot across the uneven wooden floor to the couch. There was still a little blood on its cream-colored surface from the first time she had set Elliot on it when they had tried to get out of that place what must have been hours ago by then. 

‘ _Everyone was alive hours ago._ ’ Angela pushed the thought out of her head as she lowered Elliot onto the couch. Immediately a large, red stain began to grow steadily beneath him on the couch. The thing would stink of blood from then on-- it wasn’t as if Mrs. Green would have it cleaned, she was dead.

“How’re you doing, El?” Angela asked, shaking Elliot awake again. His eyes wandered, trying to find something to settle on for a while, before stopping on Angela.

“Hey,” he said, eyelids fluttering for a moment.

“Hi,” Angela said back, it was all she could do without breaking into tears at how weak he sounded. 

“Ange?”

Angela’s lips were trembling. “Yeah, what is it?”

Elliot swallowed, taking a long time to blink before he answered. “Where did... Jackson go?”

“He...” Angela began, her voice was shaking badly. She knew they couldn’t go get help-- Jackson crashed their car half a mile down the road a few hours ago, and now he was dead in that basement. “He’s just downstairs.” 

“Oh…” The answer seemed to satisfy Elliot for the moment; he just sat there not quite conscious, but not unconscious either. “Hey, Angela?”

“Yeah?” She replied. Stray tears slipped down her cheeks as she watched his face scrunch up. He was thinking-- trying to remember how to put words together. Angela wanted so desperately to stay by his side, but she knew that he needed medical attention as soon as possible. They didn’t have a car, Angela didn’t know if Mrs. Green had one somewhere or where the keys would be, either. She wasn’t helping him here, watching him bleed out on the couch, but she couldn’t help but stay put. “El?” She asked when he didn’t speak for a long time.

“Mhhm?” He hummed.

“You were gonna say something?” 

Elliot thought it over for a moment-- that’s what Angela hoped anyways, she wasn’t sure if he had even understood him.

“Do you…” he trailed off, but started up again, “Did Mrs. Green call the hospital yet? I think-- I think I should go… to the hospital...”

Angela wiped at the tears on her face, “yeah, you should. Mrs. Green is… busy. I should call them.”

Elliot hummed again, “yeah… y’should-- you…” his voice was slurring worse, making it hard for him to get a sentence out.

“Yeah,” Angela said, getting up and wiping away more tears. “Yeah, I need to call the hospital--” her urgency was growing. 

Why was she just sitting there? Yes, she would hate herself if she wasn’t there when he said his last words, but she would hate herself more if she didn’t at least try to get an ambulance to him. 

“Okay, Elliot. Hey, look at me.” She put a hand to his cheek. “I’m going to use Mrs. Green’s phone to call for an ambulance okay? You stay awake until I get back. Can you do that for me?”

Elliot looked her in the eyes, blinking slowly. “My ankle is broken.”

“I’m getting help,” she said, tears pricking at her eyes again; he had hardly registered what she’d said. She didn’t want to think that he might be growing delirious. “Just stay put.”

Angela rushed into the kitchen, pulling the landline off the hook and dialing the police as quickly as she could. She shouted an address at the phone and a couple of names before she begged for an ambulance. She heard something about ‘stay calm’ and ‘ten minutes’ and ‘hysterical.’

“Can you stay on the line, miss?” Cut through Angela’s fog. No, she couldn’t stay on the line and be with Elliot at the same time. 

“No-- you don’t understand, my friend is dying, I can’t-- please! Just send an ambulance over-- he’s dying!” She cried into the phone.

“Miss, I need you to calm down, can you tell me what happened?”

“No! How long until the ambulance arrives?” 

“It will be there soon, can you tell me where your friend is right now?” The operator asked.

Anglea scrubbed at her eyes again. “He’s in the living room on the couch-- I need to go, he’s not doing well. I want to be with him”

“Miss, please, I need you to stay calm and stay on the line with me,” the operator said again, but this time, Angela hung up the phone and made her way back into the living room.

“The ambulance is on their way,” Angela said, tears flowing freely as she took a seat next to Elliot on the blood-stained couch. Her sitting startled him enough to wake him back up. “You doing okay?”

“Where’s... everybody?” Elliot mumbled, allowing Angela to guide his head down to her shoulder.

“They’re...” Angela began, pulling Elliot’s hand into her own, “they’re all downstairs.”

“Oh,” he said. He went quiet for a moment, saying nothing as Angela intertwined their fingers. “Why? They… are-- why downstairs?”

“Everybody is dead, Elliot,” Angela said.

“...Jackson?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs… Green?”

“Everybody, El,” Angela said. It was such a final statement-- everybody had died there. Not just Jackson and Mrs. Green-- Beth, Herman, the groundskeeper, even the little girls that had lived there. All dead.

“Hey, Ange?” Elliot said, sounding almost sad.

“Yeah, Elliot?”

“Are…we…?” He closed his eyes for a long moment, and Angela almost thought that that was it, but he opened them after a few long seconds. “Are _we_ dead?” 

“No,” she replied. 

If she hadn’t already been crying, she was sure she would have cried at the beautiful sound of police and ambulance sirens cutting through the air. 

“No, we’re not dead,” she repeated. “We’re going to be just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was purely self-indulgent, exactly no people will be searching for this lmaoooo. so hello to you if you somehow found this, hope you enjoyed it :)


End file.
